He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. ‘Flirting, Gerald? A new come-out for you. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. I meant mischief.
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